De Potu Amaro
by Bloody Mary
Summary: The Inquisition is a deeply conflicted organization. This is one such clash.


Whoever had the brilliant idea of serving recaf while both Kharon and Caoxoch are around must have a death wish. I shall personally hang them by their intestines and then feed them their own liver. I'm not sure what I will do next, but it will be long and terrible, and likely involve juggling kidneys.

You'd think that with me being an Inquisitor, the servants would listen to my orders. Think again. They hear what I say and do what they believe Mistress Gaia – my teacher – would have ordered. It has been years since she died and yet, here I am, in her shadow. I still catch the oldest ones calling me "young Nat". I'm still her student to them.

I can go, face Eldar witches and warlocks and when I come back somebody is bound to ask me if I'm eating enough.

"Eggs," Caoxoch says, her nostrils flaring in righteous indignation. She glares at Kharon coldly through the thin frames of her glasses. "You have added eggs with sugar to your recaf."

When Inquisitors meet, one has to prepare everything with the utmost care. Anything that would distract them has to be avoided. Any possible conflict has to be prevented. This is an encounter of strong personalities and volatile tempers; a disaster waiting to happen. Obviously, I have given very clear, very exact orders: do not serve recaf. Give them anything else: amasec, tea or, if everything else fails, the industrial oil leftovers that Brother Haakon calls mead.

Did anyone listen? Did anyone care what is at stake? Of course not. That would require some thinking.

"Egg yolk mixed with sugar, actually," Kharon replies placidly. He even offers her a smile or something that passes for it, given that his face is mostly scar tissue. He reminds me of one of those old sour tomcats that will attack anything, including Land Raiders. "I will never understand how you can drink bitter cat-shit."

Trying to steer them away from their fight is futile. I have already tried on previous occasions. It never works. They always find a way to go right back to quarreling.

It's not like this is a social call. It never is. We have a whole damn cult of insane blood-thirsty maniacs on the loose, run by a man that apparently can convince stones to dance, but for those two this is less important than their bloody beverage.

Caoxoch sniffs haughtily. "That is because you are a barbarian with the tastes of five-years-old."

I allow myself the luxury of a sigh. My colleagues ignore me completely, too intent on goading another.

"My dear, you must be aware that bitterness is a warning that something is poisonous?" Kharon replies, unperturbed.

By now, I know the arguments they will use by heart. I suppose they do as well, which puzzles me greatly. Do they really expect that repeating them over and over will somehow magically make the other relent?

"Which is why your favourite amasec is sweet, I presume?" Caoxoch shoots back.

I hate her. I really do. From her meticulously coifed hair to her impractically high heels. She seems so rational, so poised, but it does nothing to stop her from participating in this madness.

"If I am to poison myself, I'd rather do it with something that has a pleasant taste," Kharon says. "Life is too short and unpleasant to make it worse by punishing yourself with sewer waste."

I start counting to ten. After all, someone has to act like an adult and keep their cool.

"Indulgence is the path to hedonism." Caoxoch looks so pious as she speaks, she might as well be in a temple delivering a sermon. "One like you may not understand it, but only through denying ourselves pleasure and constantly testing ourselves, can we keep ourselves pure."

Why is there never an emergency when you need one? I don't ask for much. Just a few Dark Eldar or maybe some cultists to distract them.

"Ah, so you admit, you don't like it either!" Kharon exclaims triumphantly.

I groan loudly. It has about as much of an effect as a summer breeze.

"I have said no such thing!" Caoxoch snaps. "And you'd do well and try recaf without all those ridiculous condiments you insist on adding, before you start criticizing."

It's like watching one of those annoying rodents. All they do is run in circles and rant, rant, rant.

"If I remember correctly, you were the one who started criticizing me," Kharon replies.

They're so predictable. I knew they would just go back to where they started. They always do. Is there really no way to get them to stop?

"And if I remember correctly, you have never tried what I drink, either," Kharon continues. "You would do well to heed your own advice, love."

There has to be something that will make them shut up and never ever start this idiotic dispute again! Maybe I should just shoot myself? One clean shot, one little hole in the forehead and I would never hear this moronic quarrel.

"Excuse me?" Caoxoch draws herself up, her bosom heaving even in the confines of her corset. "You want me to drink this… this… abomination?"

Kharon grins and extends his hand invitingly. The liquid inside his cup has long ago gone tepid. Caoxoch eyes it, as if she expects something to ooze out of it. Kharon's grin grows wider and wider, and finally I have enough.

Enough of their inane feud and of listening to them every time we meet. Enough of being ignored and subjected to their fight, while the really important matters are left unattended and forgotten. I rip the cup from Kharon's hand and throw it at the nearest wall. It smashes against it with a satisfying clatter.

"Inter-" Kharon starts, but corrects himself in time, "Inquisitor Nathaniel, what are you doing?"

Then I rip Caoxoch's cup from her fingers and pour the cool dark liquid over Kharon's head. They both stare at me with shocked expressions and are finally, blessedly silent. A feeling of calm spreads all over my being and I smile.

"Now that I have your attention," I say, "let me solve your little disagreement once and for all. Recaf cannot compare to soda."

Then I drop Caoxoch's empty cup on the floor and leave them to gape in mute confusion.

* * *

**AN: **Written for the Black Library Bolthole Read in a Rush competition: "Bitterness". Apparently, it wasn't 40k enough, but still a lot of fun to write. :P


End file.
